Take Me On

“The asshole who has you doubting yourself. The asshole who scared you. Stephen.”


Lila jumps to her feet. “All he did was point out what he already knew. That I can’t handle being on my own.”

“That is bull.” Unlike yesterday morning, I don’t yell. This emotion burrowing through me, it’s an eerie, deathly calm. Since Josh’s death, I’m used to numb, and Lila’s letters have been the only weapon strong enough to slip past that wall. Since realizing I could lose the connection with her, I’ve felt anger, despair, guilt, hope, love and now pure, unadulterated rage.

“Before the prank you were ready to head south,” I say. “Your entire last letter was filled with what you wanted to do the moment you crossed the state line.”

“But that was before!” She throws her arms out at her sides. “That was when I thought I had someone.”

The anger dissipates—gone in a flash—leaving emptiness behind. “You have me.”

“No, I don’t.” Her eyelashes become wet as they flutter. “You were supposed to be right there beside me, and now you’re not. I thought I’d be able to convince Echo to come with me, but then she found Noah. I’m by myself now. I can’t do it. I’m not capable of going to Florida alone.”

I scratch at the stubble forming on my jaw as she wipes at a renegade tear streaming from the corner of her eye. She glances away and I feel sick.

Lila was depending on me and I jacked it up for her. For my family. For me.

An overwhelming urge bubbles inside me to head home—to talk to my family, the counselor at school, to fill out Florida’s spring admissions paperwork, which the counselor gave me to motivate me to do well in summer school. Since Josh died all I’ve been doing is ignoring my life, my future—just like how Meg ignores her baby. Yeah, going home, it would be running, but not the kind I’ve been doing for two years. It would be running forward instead of away.

When I left home to find Lila, I felt the first spark of awareness that things needed to change, but seeing Lila doubt herself, seeing her backtrack, it clears up my vision of what I need to do to get my life in order.

My grandpa once told me never to provoke an injured bear, especially one nursing its wounds, but sometimes the bear needs to be poked. “Who’s the runner now?”

A flash of fear shivers up my spine at the way her ice-cold blue eyes strike through me. “Excuse me?”

Hope I know what I’m doing. “I came here for you, Lila. For the girl who would never let anyone walk all over her. For the girl who wouldn’t be feeling sorry for herself because someone pranked her. Maybe I’m not the only one who told a lie. Maybe you invented the girl in the letters.”

Her mouth drops open; her cheeks redden as if I had physically slapped her. “You are a jerk!”

“You mad now?”

“Yes!”

“Good. Now stop focusing on what you can’t control and start focusing on what you can.” Like summer school, working toward college, applying for spring admissions and not on my parents, my sister, my nephew...my brother’s death.

Lila shakes her head, as if she’s waking from a dream. She leans against the desk for support and runs her hands through her hair. “You’re right.”

This is the girl I know: 100 percent in or out. No waffling. A girl who treats life like a missile with a locked-in course.

Her eyes roam over me and I’m confused by the slant of her lips.

“Lincoln?” she says as the silly smile grows.

“Yes?’

“You’re not wearing a shirt.”

Embarrassment heats my body and my hand darts to my chest, feeling the exposed skin. “Sorry.”

Those blue eyes smolder. “I’m not. But you may want to get dressed for this.”





Lila

...and on the rock climbing—I think you’re underestimating yourself.

~ Lincoln

Lincoln walks beside me through the open field toward the tree line. He has a wide gait and I struggle to appear casual as I attempt to match his stride. His shirt’s back on, which is a sin. He could definitely give Echo’s guy a run for his money in the abs department.

At the wooden shed, the combination lock whines as I spin it to the right, the left and then back to the right. With a click, I unlatch the lock and open the door. Sunlight streams in and dust particles dance in the beams.

“Want to tell me what we’re doing out here?” Lincoln asks.

“Reclaiming my pride.” Stupid Stephen and stupid me. The past six months of our relationship flip through my mind like a bad award show montage: how I told him I was going to Florida, how he balked and then started talking about how scared I’d be once I moved. He played me. He played me so well that I almost abandoned my dreams.